


Sweet One

by Musafir



Category: Batman - All Media Types, DCU (Comics)
Genre: Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Batfamily, Bruce Wayne is a Good Parent, Bullying, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Female Tim Drake, Gen, Identity Issues, Physical Abuse, Protective Bruce Wayne, Rule 63
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-10
Updated: 2019-02-10
Packaged: 2019-10-25 21:45:41
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,668
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17733248
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Musafir/pseuds/Musafir
Summary: In which Bruce seemingly randomly stops using affectionate nicknames to refer to Tim, who handles it by hiding her hurt behind the mask her late mother forced her to create for polite society.Also, there is a bully, some BS from Ra's and Talia, and Jay-Jay just wants some ice cream.All batkids are female.





	Sweet One

**Author's Note:**

> I've never done a gender flipped thing before for this gang! Let me know what you think! I felt like the type of story I wanted to write would be better suited to a more sensitive (more, MORE sensitive XD) Tim Drake.

**Sweet One**

 

Bruce used to call her his Sweet One. 

 

Dickie was his darling, athletic one. Jay-Jay was his rebellious, heart of gold one. Timmy was the sweet one. 

 

When Dami came, Bruce introduced her as his strong willed baby. It should have been perfect. It  _ felt  _ like it was perfect. Four daughters, each with their own personalities, coming together to fit perfectly against each other like missing parts of a whole. In front of the eyes of the cooing masses, all who strained their necks to catch a glimpse of the perfect Wayne family, they were nothing less than so. 

 

Which is why, it came as such an alarm one day, when Bruce introduced Tim to a new business partner in an entirely different manner than ever before. 

 

“This is Timmy, my middle child.” 

 

Tim had been thrown for a moment, and then Lonely Single Child Timothea recovered beautifully. She ushered Sweet One Timmy behind her walls and swept forward to take over. 

 

“Pleasure to meet you, Mr. Collins.” Timothea said pleasantly, smiling gently, not sweetly, at the man. 

 

“What a wonderful young lady you have here, Bruce.” Mr. Collins laughed, “Perhaps she could teach my Jane a thing or two about manners!” 

 

Tim had met Jane before. Or rather, Jane’s foot as Jane had tripped Tim down an aisle in the library as Tim was walking by holding a stack of books. Jane did not like that Bruce had more money than her father. She often took it out on Tim. 

 

“Oh, Jane is such a delight!” Timothea gushed, “I’ve only met her a few times, but she’s left such an impression!” Timothea said with an earnest look to the portly man. 

 

Well, in all honesty, Jane had left an impression on her. A few across her knees and elbows from where Tim tried to catch herself from face planting on the hard floor, and one across her upper arm in a ring of bruises when Jane had jumped to ‘help her up’. 

 

“Good to hear! Good to hear!” Mr. Collins chortled, before turning back to Bruce with a more small talk. 

 

Tim felt sorry for the man, he really seemed like a good person. It probably wasn’t his fault that his daughter was a vicious snake. 

 

Tim startled. 

 

Bruce’s hand tightened slightly on her shoulder, and she forced herself still. 

 

_ Vicious snake _ was one of her late mother’s terms. 

 

Tim hoped Bruce would let her be his Sweet One again soon, Timothea was already sinking into her skin. 

 

A while later, right when Tim had just managed to put the incident out of her mind, she caught sight of Bruce and Mr. Collins again. She ventured closer just in time to see Bruce tug Jay-Jay out of the crowd. 

 

“Oh, and this is my Little Rebel.” Bruce said with a laugh, one arm around Jay-Jay’s shoulders. Tim numbly watched as Jay-Jay gently shoved Bruce and lightly informed him that she was almost as tall as he was, before greeting Mr. Collins. 

 

Tim walked away after that. 

 

Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

 

It kept happening. 

 

_ “This is Timmy, my middle child.”  _

 

Tim was starting to hate dinner parties. She, unconsciously at first, and then consciously started to avoid Bruce. And when she couldn’t, Timothea took over. Nearly sucrose in her pleasantness, always ready with an agreeable smile, and always superficial. Always guarded.  

 

_ “This is my darling, please excuse her appearance, I’ve utterly given up trying to drag her away from the gym. Dickie, this is-”  _

 

_ “B!”  _

 

The thing was, Tim knew it shouldn’t be affecting her so much. 

 

But.

 

But Bruce didn’t change the way he introduced anyone else and it  _ hurt _ . Dickie was still his athletic darling. Jay-Jay was still his rebellious one. And Dami-

 

_ “Ah, there she is! Meet my baby, now don’t be fooled! She’s the toughest little thing…”  _

 

Dami was still the strong willed baby. 

 

_ “Have you met my Rebel? Jay-Jay come over here for a minute…”  _

 

And Tim was-

 

_ “This is Timmy, my middle child.”  _

 

It happened enough times that Tim knew she wasn’t imagining it. A month later, she officially made peace with the fact that, for whatever reason, she wasn’t Bruce’s Sweet One anymore. The acceptance weighed her heart down, and Timothea swept in and hid it all. Polite young ladies did not show unduly emotion in public. 

 

Tim wondered if she had stopped being sweet. It made sense; Bruce picked their descriptors out of their personalities. As her science teacher instructed them to hypothesize; 

 

_ If  _ Bruce stopped calling her Sweet One,  _ then  _ it must mean that she wasn’t sweet anymore. 

 

And if she wasn’t sweet, the only other thing she was, was the middle child. 

 

Maybe if she had stayed sweet, Jane wouldn’t bully her so much. 

 

Timothea gritted her teeth and wiped up the blood dripping from her knee with an alcohol swab, locked in a stall of the girls lavatory. Timothea angrily, only because she was alone, brushed away tears, and told herself to stop being a wimp. Between the pain radiating from her knee, and the gaping hole in her heart from finally accepting that she wasn’t Bruce’s Sweet One anymore, Tim couldn’t distinguish what was making her cry more. 

 

Jane had pushed her down the stairs. Fortunately, Tim had caught herself. Unfortunately, she had caught herself a moment too late and her knee was paying the price. She’d have to wear long pants for another few weeks. Or long skirts. 

 

Sweet is weak. Timothea told herself. Sweet is weak. 

 

Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

 

“What’s with the mormon look, Timmy!” Jay-Jay crackled as Tim came down the stairs, “You converted or something?” 

 

Tim wore a long navy skirt, past the knees, and a collared white top. It was a tad bit too warm an outfit for the midsummer day. 

 

“She  _ should  _ cover up.” Dami sniffed. “I was getting revolted looking at her knobby knees. Honestly.” 

 

Tim silently thought that if Dami could get a look at her knees  _ now _ , she would be more than disgusted. Red irritated skin, scabs atop scabs, and small cuts in various stages of healing. Tim had let slip one or two silent tears when trying to clean it all up. 

 

Jay-Jay snorted into her cereal. 

 

“Guys.” Dickie reproached. “Stop it. I think you look nice, Timmy.” 

 

“Thanks, D.” Timothea said mildly. She grabbed a breakfast bar and made to swing out of the kitchen. 

 

“Woah woah! Hang on!” Jay-Jay called to her, “You’re really wearing that? It’s hot out.” 

 

“It’s a skirt, Jay. I think it’ll be fine.” Timothea said. 

 

“You have other skirts. Ones that don’t scream ‘ _multi-purpose cloth; watch me turn into a tent!_ ’” 

 

“It’s not that bad.” Timothea said mildly. “I just felt like wearing it.” 

 

“What, you forgot to shave your legs or something?” Jay-Jay pressed. “Or is this a phrase?” 

 

“A phrase. I think I like it.” Timothea said, kicking one of her smooth legs under the cloth. “And I did forget to shave, but this way, I don’t have to. Win win.” 

 

Dickie laughed and waved her out of the kitchen. Timothea glided away. 

 

Tim was stunned that Timothea worked on her sisters too. It made her feel uneasy. It made her feel alone. It made her feel like Lonely Single Child Timothea all over again. 

 

Tim’s ‘phase’ lasted about two weeks. 

 

After that, Jane swung a door so hard into a shoulder that it left a bruise all the way from the bone to her breast. 

 

Tim’s next ‘phase’ was long sleeved turtle neck crop tops. No one batted an eye. 

 

Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

 

“This is Timmy, my middle child.” 

 

“Pleasure to meet you.” Timothea said pleasantly. She extended her hand, fingers bent inwards, and let the newest WE employee brush his lips across the back of it. 

 

“What a beautiful young woman you have here, Mr. Wayne.” 

 

Bruce laughed in the way that Tim knew to be fake. 

 

“I’ll admit, I had nothing to do with it.” He said jovially, voice lowered in jest. 

 

“Thank you, Mr. Harrison.” Timothea said, graciously accepting the compliment and pretending that she didn’t want to scream. 

 

She didn’t want to be beautiful. She wanted to be sweet. People didn’t look at sweet people the way Mr. Harrison was looking at her. 

 

Tim tried to shift so that Bruce would know she was uncomfortable. Timothea didn’t let her. Young ladies did not cause unnecessary attention to themselves. 

 

Timothea stood next to Bruce, until she could politely, demurely excuse herself without catching much attention. 

 

“Timmy.” Bruce called, he took two large steps and looked down at her. Timothea looked up innocently.

 

“Yes, Bruce?” 

 

“Everything alright, kiddo?” Searching eyes tracked her face, and Tim was thankful she was wearing one of the more conservative dresses in her closet. Jane’s latest lovemark hadn’t vanished entirely. 

 

“Of course!” Timothea said, smiling politely. 

 

“You seem off.” Bruce pressed, quietly. 

 

“I’m fine, B.” Timothea said. “Really.”

 

And that was that. Timothea excused herself with another murmured demure, and felt Bruce’s eyes on her as she flowed through the crowd. 

 

Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

 

“This is Timmy, my middle child.” 

 

Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

 

It figured that since Bruce caught on, it was only a matter of time before the rest of the world did. 

 

After Timothea had done her best to disengage the mildly concerned father, the media blew up with stories of her, picking up speed and fueling each other with repeated and reworded gossip. 

 

Interestingly, though she apparently was the flavor of the week, she wasn’t dragged through the mud. With the exception of a few of the regular rags, the rest was generally positive. 

 

“Everybody take a shot! Timmy’s on T.V. again!” Jay-Jay called, turning up the volume. 

 

“-really just blossomed into a quiet, beautiful young woman. I mean, you look at these photos of her, from just three months ago, compared to how Ms. Timothea Drake-Wayne steps out these days, and the transformation is mind blowing.” 

 

The newscaster threw up two images. 

 

The first was of Tim from a few months ago. She was looking up into the camera, caught mid laugh, mouth open and eyes glistening with unrestrained delight. Her features were loose and relaxed and happiness radiated from her. Her hair was a wild wavy mess of glossy black, she wore cut off overalls with a white shirt underneath, and a light tan colored her skin. She was kneeling on the floor and in her hands was a skateboard. Her feet were covered in socks that had little pizzas on them. 

 

Tim remembered the day; it had been her birthday. Bruce had gifted her the skateboard and gruffly told her that he had installed a private skateboard park where the old pool used to be. Seconds later she had jumped into his arms, pressing kisses all over his face and screaming her joy. 

 

Timothea couldn’t remember who that girl was. 

 

The second picture was 100% Timothea. The picture must have been taken by paparazzi, because the angle was off center and the lens were slightly blocked by what looked like part of a hedge. In the picture, Tim wore a long pale pink dress, a light grey shawl artfully draped over her shoulders. (To hide the bruise). Her hair was up in a severe bun. Her feet peeked out, showing strappy wedge sandals, and a hint of ankle. (She hated heels). Sunglasses rested on her head, but she might as well could have had them on due to the lack of expression on her face. 

 

Tim looked at Timothea’s public face and turned away from it. Cold empty eyes, mouth in a platonic smile, and a lack of awareness. Underneath lay a calculating socialite, and underneath  _ that  _ lay Sweet Timmy, hurt and unable to break through to the surface. 

 

Tim left the room before the pictures fully disappeared, slipping out and hearing Dami loudly debate the fate of the world if all they had to focus on was; 

 

“-Drake’s mediocre outfits.” 

 

Timothea walked away. Maybe a midday nap would do her some good. 

 

Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

 

“Alright.” Bruce said, barging in to the den where three of his girls were gathered, “Who did it?” 

 

Dami, Jay-Jay, and Dickie all looked up with surprise, from their various positions flopped over the furniture. They shot a glance at each other, communicating in the way that sisters did when confronted with an angry parent. 

 

“Did what, B?” Dickie asked, finally. 

 

“If something has occurred, clearly it is Drake’s fault.” Dami immediately said. “Clearly the rest of us do not know about any mishappening, so the obvious culprit must be Drake.” 

 

“This is  _ about  _ Tim.” Bruce growled. 

 

“What happened to Timmy?” Dickie asked in alarm, finally sitting up from where she had been doing a split in the center of the floor. “Is she okay?” 

 

Jay-Jay also sat up, expression immediately breaking out of its defensive stance. Out of all the girls, Jay-Jay always felt most protective over Timmy. Which was why Bruce was baffled now. How could it have gotten this bad and no one caught it? 

 

“She is not okay. I think Tim is depressed. Have you seen this?” He tossed his phone at Dickie, who caught it expertly. 

 

He watched as Jay-Jay crowded Dickie, pushing her so she could see too and waited. Dami waited her turn, her usual expression of uncaring affixed to her face when Tim was brought up. Still, Bruce could see that she was curious. 

 

He didn’t expect the reaction he got from his eldest daughters. 

 

“Bruce!” Dickie said with a laugh, tossing the phone to Dami. “Why are you reading that crap?” 

 

“Come on old man!” Jay-Jay said with a grin, “You can’t honestly be serious. Are you going to gossip mags for your parenting now? Level up, B. You can do better.” 

 

“Ah. This drivel has been on TV all day.” Dami said with a sniff. 

 

Bruce was about to reprimand his eldest, when the words of his youngest caught his attention. 

 

“What?” 

 

“Have you not seen? They are, heaven knows  _ why _ , obsessed with Drake currently. Look.” 

 

Dami turned on the TV, which happened to be playing a recap of the episode in which the newscaster threw up the side by side comparison photos of Tim, and gushed about how she was so much more mature and lady-like and proper now. 

 

“-Why, we could be looking at a young Janet Drake!” The anchor gushed before the commercial came on. 

 

Bruce felt the two juxtaposed images burn into his eyes. 

 

Young Janet Drake. 

 

Young Janet Drake. 

 

_ Young Janet Drake.  _

 

No. 

 

Not his sweet child. 

 

Bruce staggered and sat down heavily on a sectional. His mind raced and now he knew why he had been feeling uneasy. He had known there was something off about Tim in the last few weeks. He had known it for a while now, ever since he had caught her smiling at some random employee he had been introducing his her to. Her empty smile had sent chills down her back. 

 

Because it wasn’t his sweet Timmy’s smile. It was Janet Drake’s. Now that he had made the connection, he could see it so clearly in his mind. Janet’s smile. Fake, guarded, and so heavily placating that no one would ever think that there was an issue. Bruce had seen Janet smile the same way when her mother died, and when people celebrated her birthday. 

 

No. No. No. How could this have happened to his sweet Timmy?

 

“B. What's wrong?” Dickie asked, anxiety creeping into her tone. 

 

“There is something wrong with Tim.” Bruce said hoarsely. He could feel his daughters exchange looks. 

 

“No, no B. Look, it's just gossip.” Dickie said gently, persevering when Bruce tried to shake his numb head, “They rotate us out all the time. A few months ago Jay-Jay was in the news and they all were speculating that she was pregnant remember? She wore a baggy sweater out once and they latched on to it. It's just what they do. Timmy’s fine.”

 

“You wore a baggy sweater once?” Bruce asked, looking at Jay-Jay. She didn’t even have her usual, mildly unimpressed look on her face. She was looking at him like she was worried about him. He wanted to physically redirect her concern.

 

“Yeah B. You don’t remember? I threw on one of your sweatshirts and took the ‘vette out for some fries. They hounded me for weeks and then it blew over. It happens.” Jay-Jay said.

 

“Once.” 

 

“Yeah, B. Just once, and they turned it into this whole big thing.” Jay-Jay smiled slightly at him, eyebrows still pulled together in worry. 

 

Bruce motioned for his phone and Dami handed it back to him. He typed something, and clicked. Waited for the bar to load. Then handed the phone back to his girls.

 

“This is not  _ once _ .” Bruce said. 

 

He had googled ‘Timothea Wayne’ and clicked images. A sea of neutral pastel, placid smiles, empty eyes, and long loose clothing greeted them. 

 

“Okay...okay so she changed her style….” Dickie said, scrolling fast. But Bruce could see that she was catching on. “She…”

 

“Maybe its a public image thing? With us, Timmy hasn’t been….” Jay-Jay started, and then came to a startled pause. 

 

“I’ve been noticing her behavior was off for a few weeks now.” Bruce said. “I thought she would come to me when she was ready...but I think she’s avoiding me. I thought if it was something between you girls, she would want to keep it private until you resolved it.” 

 

Unwittingly, every eye turned to Dami. 

 

Dami flushed. 

 

“I did nothing!” 

 

“Dami.” Dickie said gently, “No one’s blaming you, but if you are having a fight with Timmy, you gotta let us know right now.” 

 

“I resent your implication. Why is it that if something is wrong with Drake, all blame is immediately tossed upon me?” Dami said, defensive. 

 

“You didn’t answer the question, brat.” Jay-Jay said, eyes narrowing. She shoved the phone in Dami’s face. “This  _ ain’t  _ okay. So if ya two got into somethin’, you gotta speak up now. When the fuck have ya ever known Timmy ta wear  _ pastel _ ?” She said ‘pastel’ like it was a curse word, accent coming through loud and clear in her worry disguised as anger. 

 

Bruce didn’t move to reprimand her for her expletive. 

 

Dami glanced at the phone and then turned away from it, refusing to take it. 

 

“We’re not fighting.” Dami repeated, but her expression said otherwise. 

 

“Are you sure?” Dickie pressed, “No one will blame anyone, and no one is taking sides. But if you need to get something off your chest, now is the time, kiddo.” 

 

“It's not a  _ fight… _ ” 

 

“Dami, please.” Bruce said when Dami trailed off, a note of pleading in his tone, “Whatever it is, you need to tell me. Tim’s not handling it well. I’m worried.” 

 

The blatant admission had all the girls shifting uncomfortably. Bruce was so rarely candid in this part of his parenting, much preferring to keep a strong face and gently explain how they, or he, could fix the problem. 

 

“I didn’t...I didn’t know it would cause her to lose her mind like this.” Dami finally said in a rush. “It was just an experiment. I didn’t mean to hurt anyone! If she wasn’t so sensitive-...” 

 

“Dami, what did you  _ do _ ?” Dickie asked, eyes wide. 

 

“I...Grandfather taught me a few methods of conditioning. He suggested I practice on someone tough. But I didn’t do anything bad! I...Father…you...” Dami paused, hands clenched into fists, and looking guilty. “I didn’t know that she would react badly! It was supposed to be nothing!” 

 

“Dami,” Bruce said calmly, the utter opposite of how he felt on the inside, “What do you think you conditioned me to do?” 

 

“I don’t  _ think _ . I absolutely succeeded. I conditioned you to stop referring to Drake as ‘sweet’ aloud. But that's it. I didn’t do anything else! And no one was supposed to notice! It was such a simple thing! I even stopped after the first month, but you kept not doing it. I didn’t think anyone would notice!” 

 

“That’s...That’s ridiculous, I always call Tim my-...” The words snagged in his throat and Bruce froze, mind racing over the last few months. How did he introduce Tim to people then? Tim was-

 

_ “This is Timmy, my middle child.”  _

 

Oh my god. 

 

“Tim is my Sweet One.” Bruce said, loudly and clearly. The words felt homecoming in his throat.

 

“It’s not my fault!” Dami said, slightly shrilly, “If Drake wasn’t so sensitive this wouldn’t even be an issue!  _ Normal people _ -...”

 

“Enough!” Bruce’s voice cracked across the room.  

 

He looked at his smallest child, conflicting emotions ranging across her face, and felt rage. Not directly at her; Dami was young, easily manipulated, eager to please, and moldable. He felt rage at the family courts for enforcing split custody. This would have never happened if Talia hadn’t done whatever underhanded thing she had done to make sure that Dami spent a large portion of her time under Talia and Ra’s Al Ghul’s thumb. 

 

But. She had also apparently _ willfully conditioned him _ . 

 

And she wasn’t young enough that he could dismiss this with an  _ ‘oh, she didn’t know what she was doing’ _ . Sure, she clearly hadn’t understood the consequences, but Bruce had no qualms about the fact that there was a part of Dami that had premeditated her actions. Targeting Tim. Targeting Bruce’s obvious affectionate nickname for Tim. And knowing what would hurt the older girl. 

 

Bruce felt a part of his heart splinter, wondering if his own parenting was leaving less of a mark on Dami than he had thought it was. 

 

“Go to your room.” Bruce had no idea how to deal with this, but he had bigger problems on his hand than his youngest’s mean streak.

 

“Father-...” 

 

“Go.” 

 

Dami strided out of the room, head held high, and Bruce despaired. Then he mentally shook his head and compartmentalized. Dami was secure in her room and would stew there for a while. His other child, unknowingly mentally tortured by himself for months now, was a more pressing issue. 

 

“Where’s Tim?” Bruce asked his remaining two children. 

 

“Probably in her room. She’s been spending a lot of time in there.” Dickie said, an uneasy look on her face. “Bruce...do you think...if Dami did it to you…” 

 

“No, no. She wouldn’t.” Bruce immediately assured. He tried to make his expression secure, when in reality he had no idea because-

 

“How’d that work on you?” Jay-Jay asked, a look in her eye that Bruce wanted to never see again. 

 

“I don’t know.” He wished he could comfort them more. “We’ll get to the bottom of this.” Bruce assured his eldest girls, mentally assuring himself at the same time. “She’s a kid, we just need to reinforce right and wrong, more strongly. Now I really need you two to focus. Have you noticed anything else off about Timmy lately?” 

 

“Not really? She’s been quieter…” Dickie said, racking her brain. 

 

“She changed the way she’s dressing.” Jay-Jay said. “Remember? A while ago? She started wearing those long skirts and dresses and didn’t stop. Said it was a phase or something.” 

 

“Oh, yeah. I remember that.” Dick said, realization dawning on her face. “But how’s that relate?” She looked at Bruce as if he would know. 

 

“I think it's time we talk to Timmy.” Bruce said. 

 

Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

 

Tim was napping in her room.

 

For once, there was no pressure to put on a front. There were no bullies to hide from. There was no wound she had to make sure didn’t need stitches. There was no one she had to hide livid and fading bruises from. No need for painkillers, painstakingly procured in secret from the drug cabinet. There was no one sniping at her. No one calling her their middle child. No one caring if she was unsweet. 

 

Tim was napping. 

 

She lay half reclined on padded window seat, back supported by a few pillows and legs propped up on the window ledge. The window was open to let in the breeze and the sunlight danced over her. She wore a worn tank top and a pair of faded grey shorts, hair loose and tossed carelessly over a pillow. 

 

It would have looked like his sweet girl was simply napping, were it not for the multiple bruises, like splotches of yellow, green, blue, purple, and red watercolor covering her skin, torn up knees, dry tear tracks tracing down the one cheek he could see, and dark smudges under tired eyes.

 

Bruce’s phone cracked in his hand and glass rained down onto the Bocote wood floor. Dickie jumped away from the sound instinctively and Jay-Jay jerked at the noise. Bruce barely registered their movement.

 

Someone had  _ physically  _ hurt his Sweet little girl. He wanted to murder the person that had dared to lay a hand upon his daughter. The rage that filled Bruce was unspeakable. He nearly trembled with it and then, with a soft call from his second oldest, it all vanished. 

 

“B?” Jay-Jay’s voice was a timid, scared thing, a wisp of what it usually was, and Bruce immediately moved sideways and enveloped her into a side hug. The relief he felt when she didn’t flinch was insurmountable. All his girls, dear God,  _ all his girls. _ All so hurt in different ways, all so  _ tough _ . He wanted to protect them all. 

 

“It's going to be alright. I’m going to fix it. She’s going to be fine.” Bruce said steadily, tearing his eyes away from his sweet girl’s knees. “Jay-Jay can you please go get Alfred for me? Tell him to bring the first aid kit?” 

 

He dropped and kiss on top of Jay-Jay’s head when she nodded and let her escape his hug. She walked out of the room with a waver in her step and eyes wide, the image of her little sister’s bruises flashing in her eyes. Bruce wished he had had the sense to cover her eyes before she could see. 

 

“Dickie, do you want to go with her?” Bruce asked, looking gently at his eldest. 

 

“No, I’m going to stay.” Dickie’s voice was a steady, determined thing, and Bruce felt a surge of love. 

 

“Okay, Darling.” 

 

Bruce moved forward until he was standing right next to Tim, and then crouched down so he put himself at level with her. With one hand, he gently carded his fingers through Tim’s hair, and then called out to her softly. 

 

“Hey sweetheart, could you wake up for me?” Bruce murmured, as Tim shifted, slowly rising to consciousness. Her eyelids flickered. “My sweet, sweet Timmy. Come on, just for a little bit.” 

 

Tim’s eyes cracked open.

 

“Hey, Sweetheart. Hey there.” Bruce said, smiling at her. 

 

Sweet One Timmy smiled sleepily back at him. 

 

Bruce’s heart felt like it would burst. 

 

Timothea slammed her guard down in the next instant as awareness flooded into her. 

 

“Oh my god.” She scrambled up, jerking back against the pillows and reaching for a cover. “What are you doing in my room?”

 

“Timmy, Timmy, don’t! You’re going to hurt yourself more.” Dickie exclaimed, rushing forward, and trying to get Tim to stop moving. She grabbed Tim’s tiny wrists lightly, but firmly, restraining her until Tim stopped struggling. 

 

“I’m fine.” Timothea said.

 

“Tim...what happened?” Bruce asked, gesturing to all her wounds. 

 

“I...I fell.” Timothea said. 

 

Dickie slid her hand up Tim’s arm until she encircled a ring of yellowed bruises that fit underneath her hand nearly perfectly. Dickie noted that the bitch that had done it had a slightly smaller hand than her own. Which meant that, if she was proportionate, she had about three inches and 30 pounds on her baby sister. 

 

“Who did it.” The eldest child asked, in a no-nonsense tone. 

 

“I  _ fell _ .” Timothea repeated, swallowing hard. 

 

“No, you didn’t Timmy.” Dickie said, shaking her head. 

 

“Yes, I  _ did _ .” 

 

“Sweetheart-...”

 

Tim physically jerked and stared at Bruce. 

 

“What?” She whispered. 

 

“Sweetheart. My sweet Timmy. My Sweet One. Always so sweet right from the start. Always going to be my sweet sweet little girl.” Bruce said, desperately hoping that if he said it enough, he could make up for months of neglect. 

 

“Why-...” Tim’s eyes were wide and she stared at Bruce like she had never seen him before. Or that she was seeing him again, finally, after months. 

 

“My sweet little girl. My Sweet One Timmy.” 

 

Timothea trembled. 

 

Timothea- no. Tim stared back at him. Eyes wide and hurt and bright with tears. She took a shuddering breath and looked at Bruce, instantly raw and open. It had been  _ months _ . 

 

“How come- How come you stopped?” She asked, two simultaneous tear drops falling down red cheeks. “Did I...Did I…” 

 

Bruce helplessly opened his arms to her and hugged his little girl tightly as she fell into them and trembled hard. 

 

“I  _ never  _ meant to stop.” He soothed, rubbing a strong hand down her back. He could feel her spine. “I’m so sorry. I’m so sorry, sweetheart.” 

 

Tim’s breath hitched in his arms and he held her through the sobs. 

 

His sweet child. 

 

Bruce had made it so that she would never need Janet Drake’s teachings. Never need to use the polite society mask that Janet had been grooming her to have since practically birth. When Bruce had adopted her, Tim had been the most reserved young girl Bruce had ever met. Polite, amenable, adorable, and quiet with just a hint of sweet. 

 

It had taken a very long time to undo the training Janet had forced on the tiny little girl. But Bruce had done it. And underneath it all, he had found a sweet little girl.

 

His Sweet One. 

 

He started to call her that to remind Timmy that Bruce cared about none of the things Janet had held so important; image, fame, grandeur, public standing. Bruce only cared about one thing; his Sweet Timmy. 

 

Because being sweet had always come  _ naturally  _ to Tim. Janet had almost destroyed it within the little girl, but Bruce had painstakingly slowly showed her being sweet was just fine because he would always be there and if he was there, well it didn’t matter what anyone else thought, now did it? Tim could be  _ whoever  _ she wanted to be.

 

And so Timmy became his Sweet One and Bruce had been content. 

 

And now, now his Sweet One was crying in his arms, bruised to hell and back, and hurting so so deeply. And Bruce was wondering how it was possible that he had dropped the ball this badly. 

 

“Sweetheart.” Bruce murmured, rocking them both slightly. “You have to tell me, okay? You have to tell me who hurt you.”

 

Tim stiffened in his arms. She pulled back slightly before sniffling and then burying her head into Bruce’s shoulder, arms holding Bruce like he was a lifeline. He held back as tight as he dared. 

 

“I didn’t fall. I’m sorry for lying to you, Dickie.” Timmy mumbled. 

 

Dickie crouched and ran a soothing hand down Tim’s back. 

 

“Yeah, I figured, Timmy. It’s alright.” She said, soothingly. “Could you please tell us who now? You’re covered in bruises, T. We’re really worried.” 

 

“Do I have to? Can I just be home-schooled?” Tim asked, shooting a pang of confusing déjà vu through Bruce with her question; confusing because he was sure that none of his kids had ever asked to be home-schooled before.

 

Over her head Bruce and Dickie shot a glance at each other. So the culprit was someone at the school that Bruce was shelling out thousands of dollars for, to make sure his daughter got the best education in the safest environment. Great. 

 

He was also glad that Dickie was there, because in the moment, he was liable to agree to anything Tim wanted. If his little girl wanted a castle, Bruce would gift her five. In five different countries. Being home-schooled was a laughingly simple request. 

 

“No, Timmy.” Dickie said, gently but firmly, “We don’t run from our problems, T. Come on, tell us.” 

 

Tim sighed and then burrowed deeper into Bruce’s tear soaked shoulder. She mumbled a name. 

 

“-..-ne...lins.”

 

“What?” Dickie asked, leaning closer and looking at Bruce to see if he had caught it. He shook his head minutely, straining his ears. 

 

“Jane Collins.” Tim mumbled, just a breath louder than before. 

 

Bruce pulled back, careful not to disengage Tim from her nesting spot. 

 

“Jane Collins? Where have I heard that name before?” He asked, puzzled. 

 

“You hired her father onto your management team a few months ago.” Tim mumbled, turning her head to the side and staring at Bruce’s chin. 

 

Bruce stared into the distance, trying to wrack his brain and then remembered. 

 

“Gregory Collins’s daughter is physically abusing you at school?!” Bruce was aghast. 

 

“I think the term is bullying, B.” Dickie said, eyes warning him to keep his cool.

 

“I don’t think her father has anything to do with it.” His sweet little girl said, sitting up and looking at him straight in the eye. “B. You can’t fire Mr. Collins, he’s really nice to me every time I see him. I think it's just...her. She doesn’t like me very much.” 

 

Bruce stared at his sweet little one. Wondered how she found the strength to do the things she did. Wondered how she could so sweetly stick to her morals and demand fairness for all even when she was the victim. 

 

Bruce pulled her back into his arms. 

 

“I’m going to demand a thorough investigation. But I won’t do anything rash.” He promised his sweet daughter. 

 

“Thanks, B.” Was said against his neck. 

 

“Why didn’t you say anything?” Dickie asked, sitting on her haunches, looking exhausted. Bruce reached out and extended his free hand to her. She took it and he squeezed comfortingly. It had been a roller coaster of an hour. His Darling was an utter champ.  

 

“I don’t know.” Tim shrugged, not making eye contact. The true answer was that she honestly didn’t think that, with recent events, anyone would care. But, lying here in Bruce’s lap, feeling his rage at her circumstance, it felt stupid to say it out loud. So she didn’t. 

 

“Okay. Okay, it's fine for now.” Bruce said, feeling Tim tense up in his arms. “We know who, and we are going to fix it.” 

 

“Knock, knock.” Alfred said primly at the door. “I heard we have a lady in need of some care?” 

 

“Hi Alfie.” Timmy said, wiping her face on Bruce’s shoulder before looking at the elderly butler. 

 

“My word, Miss Tim. Do sit up for me, dearest, so that I may see the extent of your injuries.” 

 

Tim shrunk in Bruce’s arms, but with a nudge, she obediently hopped up to sit on the edge of the window seat. 

 

“Well.” Alfred said faintly. “It appears we have a bit of work. Miss Tim, I do believe you will be smelling like tiger balm for the foreseeable future. Nothing we can’t fix however, my dear.” 

 

“Okay, Alfie.” Tim weakly agreed. Dick hopped up to sit beside her and Tim leaned into her side automatically. 

 

“Wonderful. Master Bruce.” Alfred’s voice turned whipcord sharp. “Have you obtained the necessary information to handle this travesty of a crime against our Sweet Miss Tim?” 

 

“I have, Alfred.” 

 

“I must insist you go deal with it, posthaste and promptly. Perhaps you might also collect Miss Jay from the kitchens where I have left her with a warm beverage. I shall attend to our young miss here.” Alfred was, in so many words, demanding that Bruce go get a pound of flesh. Sometimes, even with all of Bruce’s intensity, the one to watch out for when confronted with a threat against their persons, was Alfred. The grandfatherly butler was a nightmare tucked into a grand suit.  

 

“Alright, Alfred.” Bruce said, rolling to his feet. “Sweetheart, you need me, just call okay?” Bruce said, looking intently at Tim. 

 

Tim nodded, and scrunched an eye as Bruce dropped a kiss on her temple, and an identical one on Dickie’s, and then reluctantly walked away. 

 

“Well.” Alfred said, “Shall we begin with these poor knees?” 

 

Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

 

“Mr. Wayne!” 

 

Bruce turned, pulling Jay-Jay with him as he had one arm tossed over her shoulders. She lightly scowled up at him, but didn’t protest as the man that had flagged them down drew nearer. 

 

“Mr. Collins.” Bruce said cooly. 

 

“Mr. Wayne. I just wanted to apologize once again, on behalf of my daughter and myself.” Mr. Collins said, panting slightly and portly face red from exertion. He looked genuinely upset, as he had been from the moment he realized why he had been called down for a sit down meeting with the headmaster and Bruce. 

 

He had spent half of the time trying to contain his wife; who shot Bruce lustfully hateful looks and complained that Jane was just an expressive child, and the other half apologizing profusely for Jane’s actions. Bruce had been instantly aware where Jane had gotten her disdain for Tim from, and it definitely wasn't from the man wringing his hands in front of him at the moment.

 

“I truly didn’t know that Jane had been bullying Timmy. I actually thought the girls were friends. You can be sure that I will be speaking with her when I get home.” Mr. Collins said.

 

Bruce had no doubt that the man would  _ try _ . 

 

His daughter’s file at school revealed her to be an entirely different breed than her gentle father. But still, Bruce knew how it was when children made up their minds on which parent to emulate. 

 

“I understand, Mr. Collins. I do hope we can resolve this without a greater impact on either of our child’s education.” Bruce said diplomatically. 

 

Greater, because Jane was suspended until the end of the term, and her file was being reviewed to see if the school would grant her admission in the following. Bruce had categorically demanded it.

 

He would sit down with Tim at the end of the term and see if she still wanted to be home-schooled, move schools, or  _ whatever _ , but this way he ensured that her problem was handled. 

 

Bruce nodded at the man and then made to turn away. 

 

“I...do apologize to young Timmy from me, if you would. She’s always such a delight when I see her.” Mr. Collins called. 

 

“I shall. I’ll see you at work on Monday, Collins.” Bruce said, gently nudging Jay-Jay and sweeping away. 

 

“How about we bring some ice cream back for everyone else?” Bruce asked Jay-Jay, when they had put enough distance between them and the visibly relieved man. 

 

Mr. Collins had no idea that if Bruce wasn’t 100% sure that Tim would be checking to make sure he was still employed, he would have been fired on the spot. As it was, Bruce felt himself softening. His girls would call it old age. Bruce called it his girls. 

 

“From Magnificos?” Jay-Jay asked brightening. Bruce thought about the drive and internally groaned. 

 

“Sure.” He said, pulling Jay-Jay in closer for a moment. 

 

“Can I drive?” Jay-Jay’s tone was teasingly hopeful. 

 

Bruce looked at his Porsche 911 Carrera, and then back down at his daughter. There was no competition. 

 

“Just this once.” He said, tossing the keys to his stunned daughter.

 

“Yes! Thanks, B! You’re the best!” 

 

Her delighted face was all the thanks he needed. 

 

Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

 

“May I come in?” Bruce asked, standing at the door of Dami’s room. She was painting near a long open window in the remaining sunlight of the day. 

 

“It's your house.” Dami said, with a careless shrug. Bruce could see the guardedness in her eyes. 

 

“It’s your room.” Bruce said, not moving to enter. 

 

“You own every room in this house.” Dami said, with a frown.

 

“It’s still  _ your  _ room. My name might be on the deed to this house, but that's only a piece of paper, baby. It doesn’t give me any right to trample into your space, especially if you don’t want me there.” Bruce explained. 

 

Dami paused. 

 

“Why? It’s all yours technically.” His daughter was trying to understand something that her mother had taught her the exact opposite of. 

 

Bruce knew he had to tread carefully. 

 

“Why? Well...sure. Alright. You could say that technically everything in this house is mine, except here’s the thing baby; the people who live in this house have free will. And they can leave anytime they want. There is  _ nothing  _ I care about in this house more than I care about the people living in it.” Bruce said easily.  

 

“So you ask to enter because you don’t want anyone to leave?” Dami asked. 

 

“People can leave each other in more ways than one, Dami.” Bruce said, leaning against the door. “They can leave physically, mentally, they can leave in ways that show that they are physically still present; but there is no trust; no love. People had different ways of leaving each other. And let me tell you this, kiddo, I don’t know about you, but I hate being left behind. It’s the sorriest feeling, baby. So yes, I’m going to ask your permission to enter your room every time, because I would hate it if you left me.” 

 

Dami’s expression wavered. Bruce waited silently, letting the words sink in and hoping to God that she was listening. 

 

“Fine. Please enter.” 

 

“Thanks Dami.” Bruce came in, pressed a kiss onto Dami’s forehead and made to leave. She stared bewildered after him. 

 

“What?” Dami’s voice shot out from behind him. “That is all? You have no lecture, no admonition, no punishment to dispense for my horrible crime?”

 

“I think I’ve said all I needed to say, baby.”  

 

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

 

“Hello Talia, you utter bitch.”

 

There was a sharp intake of breath on the other end of the line, then;

 

“Well. This is a surprise. Are you drunk, Bruce?” 

 

“I’m not.” Bruce chuckled. “But feel free to grab a glass for yourself. I think you’ll need it at the end of this conversation.” 

 

“Oh?” Amused.

 

Bruce wished that she was in front of him so he could watch the smile seep off her face like oil on water.  

 

“Oh yes. You see, I just had the most illuminating chat with my lawyers.” 

 

“Did you?” 

 

“Oh yes. I wanted to know what makes an unfit parent, and you know what? The definition they gave came with a picture! Yours, to be exact.” 

 

“Bruce, these theatrics-...”

 

“Ah, ah, ah.” Bruce cut her off gleefully. “I’m not done. See, when one parent willfully manipulates a child in such a manner that it causes mental harm to the child, for the purpose of causing harm to the other parent, well, the courts get a little  _ uppity _ . You should be getting an email any minute now.” 

 

“What did you do?” Talia’s voice was a low hiss. 

 

“Did you think I wouldn’t find out?” 

 

“You have no proof.” Talia scoffed. But Bruce could hear her rummaging in the background and the gentle two tone of a computer turning on. 

 

“My  _ daughter  _ is my proof.” 

 

“Damina would  _ never- _ ...” 

 

“Think again Talia. She has more morals than you give her credit for.” 

 

“You cannot separate a daughter from her mother!” 

 

“Of course.  _ I’m  _ not a monster. Its supervised visits, just so we can make sure that going forward, Dami isn’t given any ideas on how to do her grandfather’s dirty work for him.” 

 

“You will hear from my lawyers.” 

 

“I’m sure I won’t.” Bruce said, blithely. 

 

Then he thumbed the cellphone off and breathed a sigh of content. 

 

Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

 

A few weeks later, Bruce walked to the skate park, where the old pool used to be. He could hear the sound of wheels on cement and laughter. 

 

“Watch this!” 

 

Bruce entered just in time to see Tim sail through the air, do a 360 and land on the edge of the opposite side, falling backwards, but managing to stay on her board. His heart froze in his chest until she came to a safe halt, and he reminded himself that this was why he didn’t come down here. 

 

“Hey B!” 

 

“Hey Sweetheart. Hey Jay-Jay.” He got a nod from Jay-Jay and a wide smile from his Sweet One. 

 

“What are you doing down here?” Tim asked, skating over. Apparently his aversion of watching his daughter sail through the air with nothing but a plastic board with wheels under her feet wasn’t as hidden as he thought. 

 

“I came by to deliver this.” Bruce said, pulling out a piece of paper with a flourish. “Are you sure you want to do this? We still have time to reverse the decision.” 

 

His Sweet One looked at him and smiled. Openly. Happily. Sweetly. 

 

“I want to. I’m sure about it.” She said simply, reaching for the paper. She unfolded it, read it, and sighed happily. 

 

Official Name Change of: MS. TIMOTHEA DRAKE-WAYNE

 

New Official Title: MS. TIMOTHY DRAKE-WAYNE

 

“Alright. If that’s what makes you happy.” Bruce said, soaking up the residual contentment. 

 

“Hey! If Timmy gets to do it, then I want to too.” Jay-Jay spoke up from her position flopped over the arm of a couch.

 

“Yeah?” Bruce called back, “And what would you like your new official name to be?” 

 

“Hmm...Jay-Jay...Jay-Jay...I got it! Timmy gets a boy name, right? I wanna be called Jason.” 

 

Bruce pretended to think about it. 

 

“Hmm, Jason. Not bad, not bad. Jason Rebel Todd-Wayne. It has a nice ring to it.” He said seriously. 

 

Jay-Jay jerked upright. 

 

“Hey! I didn’t say anything about ‘Rebel’! That makes me sound like a cheap hooker, B!” Jay-Jay protested, eyes narrowed. 

 

“If you change your name, I get to pick your middle name.” Bruce said seriously. “Sorry Jay-Jay, house rules.” 

 

“That’s literally not true!” Jay-Jay argued, waving at Tim. “Exhibit A is literally standing in front of you!” 

 

Bruce smiled at Tim. 

 

“She knows her middle name.” 

 

His Sweet One. 

**Author's Note:**

> Did anyone catch the casual reference I made to one of my OTHER stories? :D just wondering :D


End file.
